


40 Days of Rain

by ReverendKilljoy



Series: Buffy: Post-Chosen [4]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: 40 days of rain, Angst, Dawn-baby, Melancholy, Parenthood, Romance, Xander-baby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-06 12:57:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20507387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReverendKilljoy/pseuds/ReverendKilljoy
Summary: A selection of brief scenes following my Post-Chosen Trilogy, set during a mysterious stretch of 40 days of rain in southern California. An occasional series.





	1. Into Each Life, Some Rain Must Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin Wood tries to ease his troubled mind, and a walk in the rain is exactly the right wrong thing he needed.

Into Each Life, Some Rain Must Fall

Robin Wood sat, his long legs folded into lotus, his hands loosely clasped in his lap. He sat on mat of rushes, before an altar of the Buddha. He appeared at peace, Zen, to be dwelling in the place reached through that struggle for the place that cannot be reached through struggle.

He was not at peace. His body was still, but his heart was heavy, his mind racing. Master Chen, the ancient practitioner who had introduced him into the ways of meditation many years ago would not have been impressed.

Just before her hand touched his shoulder, he felt Faith, the Vampire Slayer, slide up next to him. More precisely, he felt the air parting before her fingertips. Of her arrival, he had felt or heard no trace at all. She’d been practicing.

“Hey.” 

Her voice was soft, shockingly so to those who had only known her in the past. Lately, her voice had been softer, kinder. It didn’t help, between them, but it didn’t make things worse either. She slowly folded, coming to her knees beside him, her fingertips lightly touching his shoulder. He smelled, now, her shampoo, and the citrusy soap that she scrubbed with after a hard workout.

“You didn’t come to bed.”

It sounded like a statement. It could have been a question. It felt like an accusation.

“Not sleepy,” he lied. It was easier than explaining that his body was tired but his mind refused to listen. It was the kind of lie he’d been telling a lot lately.

“I could fix that, maybe, if you came to bed,” she said, with just a hint of a purr at the beginning, which trailed into a flat expressionless statement by the end. She still tried, but it was difficult for her, too.

He rose, swiftly but not suddenly, and she followed. He turned at last and looked at her, her dark beauty glowing in the night, calling to him, tightening the muscles in his chest slightly as she always had. For a moment, no. No, he’d listened to that impulse before.

“Going for a walk,” he said. “Just for a bit. You go on to bed.”

Neither could hold the other’s gaze. He slipped his feet into a pair of soft shoes and threw a long duster coat over his shoulders. She turned, looking out the window, at the gentle rain drifting down through the hazy night of Anaheim, the shops signs, streetlights, and apartment TVs glowing through it all in a fairy haze. She didn’t watch him leave, but she didn’t go to bed either.

Outside, Wood’s feet quickly became wet through his shoes, and his bald head gleamed darkly with beaded water like dew on a mahogany stump. After he’d walked maybe 60 yards, he shook himself like an animal, and water flew away in tiny arcs around him.

“Damn, Wood.” His voice sounded only in his head, but he heard it clearly and persuasively. “What are you doing?”

He looked around at the rain-spattered street corner, the water dripping off of eaves and awnings in irregular fountains down the block. There was nothing. No danger, no threat, no allure. Just rain, and streets, and a 60-yard, squelching walk in wet shoes back to the apartment over the dojo, back to his bed, and back to his wife. He turned, and began the walk home.


	2. Raining in My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cookie dough is not a reliable indicator of personal growth.

Raining in My Heart

“Don’t just stand there, looking at me like that,” Buffy Summers groused. Her hair was unevenly pulled back under a bandana, and she had flour smeared across one cheek. Baking day was not going as planned, as evidenced by a wastebasket filled with over- and under-done cookies. She had put her fists on her hips exasperatedly, and now was mad at herself for the mess she was making of her jeans from batter on her hands.

Riley Finn, one cookie held in his massive hand, stood under the acid of her demeanor, slowly chewing on a bite of the latest batch. The scar tissue that covered his throat and reached pale fingers towards his chin pulled and flexed as he chewed. And chewed.

“I know!” she finally exploded, sweeping the latest batch of cookies in the general direction of the wastebasket. “These aren’t right either.”

He chewed.

“You don’t have to keeping chewing,” she relented, “You’re not a cow.”

With patience and effort, he swallowed the bite, then looked thoughtfully at the cookie he still held. He tilted his head as he regarded the irregular confection.

“Not your worst effort,” he said encouragingly, his raspy voice still a surprising reminder of the damage he had suffered in Panama, every time she heard him speak. “Cookie dough is tricky.”

In irritation, she grabbed too quickly for a stout spoon sticking out of a mixing bowl, and the heavy metal handle bent and warped in her slayer-strong grip. She held up the twisted spoon in shock, tears threatening her eyes, and watched a half-unmixed glob of flour and dough drop to the floor. She dropped the spoon on the counter, swiped the bandana from her head, and headed to the sink. She turned her back to Riley, and began scrubbing her hands under the warm water. She wanted to eliminate all evidence of baking.

Riley picked up the spoon, and only slightly relying on his great height and superior mass, levered it against the counter. He watched it slowly straighten into more-or-less a spoon shape, then, set it aside. He moved behind his much-shorter girlfriend and reached around her, rinsing off his own hands as he brushed his lips across the top of her head.

“It’s okay,” he breathed softly, “It’s only cookies.”

She leaned back, enjoying for a moment the comforting solidity of his body around hers. She closed her eyes and replaced, letting him slowly clean all the flour and other cookie remnants from her hands. His hands were large, calloused from physical work, but precise, controlled. As his hands washed hers, his thumbs began to trace along her wrists, an unspoken offer.

“And that’s enough of that,” she said suddenly, twisting and ducking away from him and heading out of the kitchen.

He turned off the water and followed her, across the open loft. Not towards the bed, nor the couch, but towards the door. He didn’t need to ask if she was going. He knew well what it felt like, by now, to be walked out on by Buffy Summers. He stopped following.

“it’s not just cookies, you see,” she said, throwing a scarf around her neck as she opened the door. The rain was falling again, a blue-gray veil across the world. “It’s a metaphor. I’m the cookie dough. It’s metaphor-y. Never mind. I love you.”

She closed the door on his response, and kicked at puddles as she walked. It wasn’t his fault, at all, and both of them knowing it was getting to her. There was nothing really wrong, just a weird vibe the last few days, since the heavy gun-metal clouds settled over southern California, since the rain started.

Inside his condo, Riley stood by the window, watching the drops form and race down the windowpane, to be lost, then to be replaced as new drops formed and slid down after. He placed his hand on the glass, watching the water and thinking of other times, of another place, of rain showers in Panama with Sam before she died. He didn’t not think of Sam much, but it had been a while since the old melancholy hit him like this.

He wanted a drink.

As Buffy turned the corner, a tiny figure lost in the rain, he wondered if he was going to go to bed, to a meeting, or to a bar. Instead, he stood at the window until even the watery sunshine was gone, and the light from the kitchen turned the window into a mirror. He looked at his own face, lined and wise before his time, and closed the curtains. He turned off the lights, and went to bed.

It had been four days since he had asked her to move in with him, and she had told him no.


	3. Singin' in the Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander, Dawn, and baby Hope walk in the rain. Later, non-walking ensues.

Singin’ in the Rain

“Xander? How long have you been sitting out here?”

Dawn’s voice was soft, but annoyed. The baby on her hip was sleeping, at last, and she had just discovered her husband sitting in his work truck, in the driveway, bemusedly watching the rain.

“I’m sorry, guys,” Xander said, trying to pull himself together. “I was thinking about something and lost track of time.”

He gathered his briefcase, a roll of plans, and a large water bottle, which left him a hand short and juggling as he headed towards the door of the house. Rain spiraled and arced off the roof of the carport, and he rushed across the gap between carport and house. In just those few steps his head, his briefcase, and his carefully rolled plans were well dampened. 

Dawn followed, Hope snuggled in her blanket and more or less secure from the rain. As they reached the front door, the rain let up suddenly.

“Is that not-rain that I don’t hear?” Xander pitched his belongings through the door, and stood back outside to regard the gray skies.

“It’s almost not-rain, I think.” Dawn squinted into the clouds, measuring the large gaps between drops. “I think you should grab the stroller. We might be able to squeeze a walk in if we hurry.”

Ten minutes–that should have been five–later, the Harrises were walking through their suburban neighborhood, Xander pushing Hope’s stroller while Dawn kicked idly at the larger puddles, her red ladybug rain boots lifting brown and gray water in looping splashes around them. Dawn was mumbling some song softly, accenting the end of each chorus with a slightly wetter splash. Xander was content to watch her from a few paces back, steering the stroller through the smaller puddles and around the larger ones where possible, as the light rain drizzled down.

He watched Dawn, so proud and amazed still that he was hers, and she was his. She spun a little, her raincoat flaring like a tango artist’s gown, and he saw where her calves fit into her rain boots, a little swell of muscle on her slender frame. It was nothing, a brief glimpse of denim under her bright yellow raincoat, but it struck him like a blow.

“You know, if the little monkey’s going to stay down a while, we could…” His voice trailed off hopefully. When she turned, his dark brown eye was regarding her with open desire, his mouth in that bashful half-grin that he got whenever he looked at her that way.

“Xander?”

“Yes?”

“Why are we still out here? Get back to the house.”

Of course, Hope awoke as soon as they returned to the house, as with a flash and a crash the rain picked up again in earnest. It was hours later that they finally found their own bed, the evening rushing towards night and the sound of rain wrapping the house into a cocoon of isolation, cutting them off from the rest of the world outside their walls.

Xander, as was his self-appointed duty, made sure that Hope was truly down for the night before he came to bed himself. He found Dawn, a book forgotten in her arms, asleep with the light on where she had waited for him. He took the book and set it aside, and kissed her on her forehead. He removed his eyepatch, and as he hung it from the bedpost, he slipped his wedding ring through the strap so it would hang over him as he slept.

At some point in the night, he woke as Dawn slipped into bed, back from checking on the baby. He reached a broad arm over to pull her close, and was surprised to find she was undressed. As they moved together in the night, each thought how wonderful it was that they had found one another, and how well they fit together in so many meanings of the phrase. At last, they fell asleep, listening to one another breathing, to the small noises of the baby on the baby monitor, and the rain, the rain falling against roof and window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for taking the time to read my work...
> 
> If I get specific, helpful criticism or commentary, I will continue to explore this world and these characters. Comments are the fuel of the creative engine. Again, thank you. -Killjoy


	4. I Can See Clearly Now the Rain Has Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the redeye from LAX to Boston Logan
> 
> Willow accompanies Kennedy to Cape Cod to deal with a family emergency, and the two have an overdue discussion as the plane climbs above the rains.

Kennedy, Vampire Slayer, body guard, girlfriend, looked out the window of the Boeing 757 as it splashed along the LAX runway. The plane was already leaving two hours late, which defeated the purpose of taking the commercial flight in the first place. She sighed bitterly, drumming her fingers on the armrest of the first-class leather seat.

Next to her, Willow Rosenberg watched her with narrowed eyes. She had a hundred questions, but every one she had asked thus far had been shot down or met with monosyllabic answers, so she waited. They had only been in California for two days when Kennedy had received a mysterious call, upon which she refused to elaborate with Willow no matter the persuasion.

As the plane accelerated towards flight, its nose lifted, and then the main gear broke free of the ground and the rumbles and roaring of water and asphalt were replaced with engine noise as drops of water scudded past the windows.

Kennedy closed the window shade, and then closed her eyes. She spoke, just loudly enough to be heard over the engines as the gear clunked loudly into the fuselage.

“You really didn’t have to come.”

“Of course I did. You said it was a death in the family. How could I not come?”

“It’s complicated. I should be halfway there by now.”

“I’m sorry. If it was a local shower you know I’d…” Willow looked around cautiously, “I’d have _done something_ for you. But this weather system is jus too big. It would draw attention.”

Kennedy opened her eyes long enough to smile briefly at the beautiful witch sitting next to her.

“I know. We’ll be okay. They’ll send a car to Logan, and we’ll be out to the Cape in time.”

Willow leaned over, her head resting on Kennedy’s shoulder.

“You never talk about your family, you know. I didn’t even know they lived in Cape Cod.”

“On,” Kennedy said, opening the shade to once more look out at the clouds and rain. As the plane broke through the clouds, the rain disappeared and the sky was much brighter, even in dusk. “You live on the Cape, not in. My cousins have a house in Hyannis Port, an old family house, really. If we weren’t arriving before dawn it would be beautiful. Three houses, actually, on about six acres, with amazing views of Nantucket Sound. When I was a girl, I was happy there.”

“Isn’t that insanely expensive? That much property so close to the rich and famous?” Willow yawned, her ears popping as the cabin pressure equalized at cruising altitude.

Kennedy shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. “I suppose.”

Willow took Kennedy’s hand in both of hers.

“What’s wrong? What is it that I don’t know?”

“I just want you to be ready, I guess,” Kennedy said, her face almost grim. “The family may have questions. I’m out, and they know about you, but there are relatives I never see who will be there too. And if the press isn’t at the airport, they’ll certainly be at the compound. I know you enjoy being a private person, is all.”

“Press?” Willow blinked, and her eyes got wide. “The compound… are you saying…”

“Yes,” Kennedy hung her head.

“You’re not just 'Kennedy,' you’re _a Kennedy_?”

Willow was probably the brightest person Kennedy had ever known, and she was bound to work it out eventually. Kennedy looked at her, uncharacteristically shy and defensive, and asked the question she always dreaded.

“Is my family a problem for you, Wills?”

Willow stretched over and planted a kiss on Kennedy’s lips, a brief but sweet touch.

“I _am_ your family. And you are mine. The rest is details.”

Kennedy looked out the window, at the stars shining bright over the clouds below, as they raced towards the sunrise. The tears in her eyes made everything sparkle, and the world was beautiful and filled with magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment we met Kennedy in season 7, I joked to my friend Louis that it would be funnier if she was _a Kennedy_, and now she is. The glories of transformative works.
> 
> Obviously, like the rest of my post-Chosen work, not compliant with "season 8" or later canon.


End file.
